


Burns Can, Indeed, Heal

by otawritesthings



Series: Whumptober 2019 [2]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Explosion, F/M, Whump, burn - Freeform, give these two a break please, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 05:01:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20924573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otawritesthings/pseuds/otawritesthings
Summary: /\ WHUMPTOBER DAY 2: Explosion /\It was supposed to be a normal ride. They had taken the real bike that night -- Celty was too tired to make shooter into one. It was just a quick pass out and in the city.It wasn't.





	Burns Can, Indeed, Heal

Ouch. 

Why did this hurt more than losing her head? Maybe because that pain had dulled to a mild throb these days? Whatever the reason, this pain was like an aggravating thorn buried in her rib cage that clawed its way to her heart with a ferocity only seen in an animal.

(Or Izaya.)

It had to be Izaya. When _wasn’t _it Izaya’s fault that anything happened? But, Celty thought she was in good graces with him, at least for the time being. Had he found out about her involvement in the dollars? Had he discovered her search for her head? Did he know that she loved Shinra more than words could describe and longed for the day she could get her head back and kiss him senseless?

He must. That was evident enough, because why else would he have sent the driver? He had to have known that Shinra was on her bike that night because she claimed it was nice outside, and wanted to have some time out of their stuffy, antiseptic-smelling apartment. And no, she didn’t want to take his old “four-wheel-drive” car that was stored on the side of the road. She wanted to take the bike, so they climbed on it, her in the front with him holding her by the waist in the back, and took a joyride into the sunset of Ikebukuro.

(Or maybe this stabbing feeling was guilt. Whatever it was, she wished it would _go away _because she really needed a steady hand and clear mind to do these stitches the exact way Shinra had taught her--)

Perhaps it really was just a drunk driver, or some kid fresh on the streets undeserving of a license. For Celty, it was easier to blame it on Izaya because it always came down to him in the end. Whatever it was, it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

They were on the parkway. There were only a few clouds in the sky that lit up the sky with a warm orange and pink glow that you just didn’t see from inside the skyscraper ridden city. The light was almost as warm as Shinra’s breath on her shoulder blades, or his hands pressing into the thin leather jumpsuit on her stomach. It made her skin tingle and her heart beat faster than it had before, and she hoped Shinra wasn’t hiding his stethoscope somewhere.

They were rounding the turnpike and that’s when the truck barreled into them. Celty had a better view, and braced herself, but Shinra (who was considerably shorter than her) was blindsided, and his grip wasn’t that strong (he was a doctor after all, not some pro athlete). She felt with a wave of horror as the wheels on the bike twisted and crunched (much like the bones in her left ankle) and then again when Shinra’s arms were ripped from her body. Then, she was flying with him and the bike was high in the air, and that’s when it hit the truck _again _(see, it had to be Izaya), and then there was an explosion brighter than the sun. 

It would’ve burned her eyes had she had her head, but she did feel the burning sting of the fire. It didn’t hurt _that much _she decided, but that’s when the new, stabbing sort of pain had started. The kind where a knife is being twisted into your stomach with the intent of bleeding you dry. 

Shinra’s screams started it.

Celty couldn’t _breathe. _She scrambled to her feet, trying to cover him form any more debris because while she hadn’t been hit head on with the explosion, the love of her life certainly had and...and...there was so much _blood._

The thought of calling for an ambulance crossed her mind, but it flicked away when she realized that she couldn’t actually _talk _and she wasn't going to wait around while some stranger ogled them and dumbly tried to call the police. So instead, she made a bike out of her shadow (the bike had been the real thing, not her own creation -- so sue her, she was tired) and tucked him into her lap and sped back to the apartment.

She lay him down in the operating room with shaking hands and forced herself to still them. Shinra was fine. He was _fine. Fine. _But...he didn’t look _fine. _Instead, his right side had traded his perfect, smooth, milky skin for something more pink and blistery, and his forehead had a huge gash on it that was seeping blood all over the place.

Right, stitches first. 

She carefully threaded the needle, trying to ignore the wheezes that replaced Shinra’s breath on the operating table. She cursed when it threaded, if for no other reason than to say something to get the air out of her lungs and then grabbed a cloth and knelt over him carefully.

She wiped the blood away and tried to remember how Shinra had taught her, but her mind was muddled, and her heart was beating so fast, and her limbs felt so heavy. Her ankle throbbed when she shifted, and that’s when she remembered that she was injured too, that she was bleeding from somewhere and later she would have to stitch herself up too if she wanted to survive until Shinra woke up and fixed it all.

He had to wake up. She needed him. She couldn’t...she couldn’t do whatever… this was by herself. 

She _loved _him.

She settled herself on the operating table and wiped the warm, crimson blood that was coating his face -- trying to be gentle in case he woke up. He was already out, but she didn’t know where he kept the anesthesia--

She stuck the needle into the blistering skin and pulled. And again, and again, and again, following the tedious motions and trying to remember the way Shinra had held her hand and guided her through it when he had taught her. She tried to remember the warmth, the little callouses from hours of work, the steadiness of his digits.

When she finished, she wanted to cry in relief that he was still breathing -- if only she had the eyes.

Two hours later, she was done applying thick cream to his burns (ignoring the way his brow unconsciously furrowed from the pain) and had wrapped her ankle before bandaging a nasty gash on her arm. She slumped heavily onto the bed next to the mad and just lay there, staring at the ceiling with a sense she didn’t have.

Shinra groaned from beside her.

“Celty?” She rolled over, thankful that she had discarded her helmet earlier for more space. “Hey there.” He grinned when he tilted his head over to the side. “You’re alive.”

Where was her phone? Oh, there. 

_You are too. I’m thankful._

“Aww, I’m so glad you care about me.” The brown haired man smiled cheekily then winced. “Gah, my head is killing me. Mind grabbing me some painkillers? The good stuff is in the first cabinet, second shelf, blue bottle.”

_On it._

She gave him three (not really knowing the appropriate dosage), but he didn’t correct her and took them all anyway.

“How are you feeling?” He whispered when she settled herself back onto the table.

_Tired. Sore._

“Me too.” He hummed, then his eyes flicked down to her bandaged leg. “Ouch. That looks nasty.”

_I’ll be okay. You should see yourself. _

“Oh boy.” He chuckled, but made no move to get up and see. Instead, he rolled into her side. “I think I’ll just take a nap. Wanna join?”

His eyes were closed by the time she had typed out her next message.

_Sure. Sleep tight. _

_I love you._


End file.
